


This is the Way the World Ends

by KHansen



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [27]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, BAMF Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Happy Ending, Into the Jaskierverse, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Minor Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Villain Character Death, ciri saves the day, hints of immortal jaskier, just this once everybody lives, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen
Summary: This is the way the world ends.This is the way the world ends.Not with a bang but with a whimper.There’s a man walking through the woods. His bright clothing is rumpled, his chestnut hair shaggy and in desperate need of a trim; his shoulders are slumped and his hands are in his pockets as he traipses carefully across uneven ground. Blue eyes look up in surprise when the cacophony of Geralt’s wild hunt reaches human ears.“Jaskier!”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 22
Kudos: 276





	This is the Way the World Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for joining us on this wild journey through Into the Jaskierverse! If you'd like to join in on the fun and write Geralt, Ciri, and/or Jaskier into one of _your_ AUs, submit it to our collection: [ItJ Outtakes!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ItJOuttakes)

Jaskier is tired.

He’s tired of being unmade, becoming nothing, even if it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. He’s tired of not being home, of  _ new new new. _ He’s tired of the hims, of the Geralts, of the Ciris. He’s tired of the unfamiliar familiarity his life has become, of the loss of time. Has it been days? Weeks?  _ Months? _

He wants to go home.

It’s with a guttural groan that he lands in this new universe, heart still pounding wildly with adrenaline from the last. His knees buckle and he falls to the ground, hands digging into the soft summer grass. Jaskier looks up, finding himself in a forest, and for a moment-- just a  _ moment-- _ his breath catches in his throat as he thinks he might be back in the universe with Ashwood and Eskel. Not again, he can’t do that again.

He hauls himself to his feet before sagging against a nearby tree, letting his head tip up towards the sky. Through the canopy he can see clear blue and wispy clouds, the light soft with the penultimate hour before the lavender twilight, and he exhales. He ought to go find Geralt, or Ciri or Yennefer or  _ someone, _ but a few of rest minutes can be spared for the travel weary bard. He nearly laughs. What a fucking understatement.

He grunts softly as he pushes away from the tree, his fatigue pulling at his tendons and settling in his bones-- although the fact that his knees have stopped creaking with age is something of a relief-- and sets off at what could be called a lumbering pace, the toes of his boots dragging through the undergrowth.

* * *

Together, they step out of the portal.

The air is quiet, soft clouds drifting lazily across the late afternoon sky as a gentle breeze whispers through the trees on butterfly wings. Geralt takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to hold back the fatigued sigh he desperately wants to release. Another world, another Jaskier, another step until he’s--

“Home,” Ciri whispers. 

“What?”

She looks up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears of relief, “Geralt… we’re  _ home.” _

“How can we be--”

“The spell, the tracking spell, it brought us home, Geralt! He has to be here!”

Dread settles into his stomach at her words, “You don’t think he’s…”

“Been here the whole time?” Ciri pales slightly at the thought, “Gods… Gods, I hope not.”

He would think they abandoned him, leaving him alone as he dealt with the aftermath of whatever Ciri’s magic did to him. No, no he wouldn’t be alone, Jaskier’s smart; he would have sought out Yennefer, stayed with her, asked her to help him. Yen’s never reported him being with her through the xenovox, she wouldn’t neglect to tell them something like that as they continued their wild goose chase through the multiverse. Geralt scrubs his hands over his face, inhaling deeply again.

Oak. Petrichor.

He freezes, head shooting up as his hands drop from his face and he inhales again. Oak. Petrichor. The wisps of chaos. Ciri watches him curiously as he breathes in again, desperately making sure that he’s smelling the right thing. 

“Jaskier,” he breathes. He turns and shoots off into the forest, Ciri crying out in surprise behind him. He’s never run more gracelessly, crashing through the underbrush and stumbling over rocks as he keeps his nose up, following the scent path. 

There’s a man walking through the woods. His bright clothing is rumpled, his chestnut hair shaggy and in desperate need of a trim; his shoulders are slumped and his hands are in his pockets as he traipses carefully across uneven ground. Blue eyes look up in surprise when the cacophony of Geralt’s wild hunt reaches human ears.

“Jaskier!” 

“Geralt?”

They collide roughly, Geralt knocking the bard to the ground as Jaskier grunts and instinctively wraps his arms around the witcher. Jaskier is warm and solid beneath him, human heart pounding with adrenaline, and Geralt buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder, just inhaling deeply. His shoulders are shaking and his breath stutters as he laughs with glee. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks again, sounding confused but not letting go even at Geralt lets his body sink into Jaskier’s, “Geralt, I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

Is he speaking? Geralt shakes his head, lips moving as the breathing of the bard’s heart fills his head, the scents of oak and petrichor enveloping him in an embrace. There’s an odd mumbling, muffled by Jaskier’s shirt, and he realizes it’s him.

“We  _ found you. _ We found you, we found you, we found you.”

Jaskier tenses as Geralt’s words sink in and it’s enough that the witcher almost pulls away, sitting up just a bit to peer up at Jaskier. His blue eyes-- and gods are they blue, the same as all the others he’s seen yet  _ more _ because these are  _ his-- _ are saucers in his pale face and Jaskier swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Tears well up, gathering along the bard’s lashes as he looks at Geralt with a reverence Geralt’s never seen before and long fingers lightly touch the witcher’s cheek. Geralt doesn’t even try to resist leaning into the touch, turning his face against Jaskier’s fingers.

“Geralt?” His voice is scarcely above a whisper, shaking and hoarse, thick with emotion. “Is-- are you--”

“I’m  _ yours, _ Jask.”

A sob-- of relief, of grief, of happiness-- roughly claws its way out of Jaskier’s throat and bursts through his lips, the tears overflowing and hot on his cheeks.  _ “Geralt.” _

His bard’s shaking hands tangle in his hair and clutch at his shirt as Jaskier holds him tightly, Geralt happy and willing to be hauled back into the embrace as he tucks his face back into Jaskier’s shoulder, his own eyes hot and stinging and staining Jaskier’s doublet. Jaskier holds him in a vice, wrapping one leg around Geralt’s thighs to keep the witcher as close as possible, reluctant to ever let him go again. 

“Jaskier!” Ciri’s overjoyed voice calls out and her light footsteps hasten to drop beside them. Geralt rolls to the side to pull Ciri down into the hug as Jaskier relinquishes his death grip on Geralt’s shirt to reach for the girl. She laughs wetly, wrapping her arms around them as she also collapses on top of Jaskier and starts crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, I’m so  _ so _ sorry,” she gasps and sobs into his chest and Geralt carefully extracts himself, pushing up into a seated position but keeping one hand on the bard’s shoulder to reassure himself that Jaskier really is  _ there. _

Jaskier rubs her back, letting her cry for a few minutes before gently hushing her, “Hey, hey now, it was an accident, Ciri. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m right here.”

“You were gone and it was my fault! Gods, what you’ve been through, what-what happened? What happened to you, Jaskier?” She looks up at him with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes, sniffling and wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve, “Where did you go?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaskier says firmly as he carefully sits up and Ciri adjusts to sit in his lap like she did as a girl when they would be huddled together in front of a fire as a story spilled from Jaskier’s lips and wove together with the crackling flames and rustling trees to paint the night. “It wasn’t your fault, Cirilla, do you hear me? Not once, in all this time, have I ever thought you were at fault. It was an accident, plain and simple.”

“If anyone is to be at fault, it would be the Watcher,” Geralt murmurs. Jaskier looks over at him curiously.

“Is that what you’ve taken to calling the fuckass big monster following us around?”

There’s a beat.

Ciri bursts into giggles, hiding her face in his shoulder as her hand remains curled in Jaskier’s collar,  _ “fuckass?” _

“What?” His voice is defensive but there’s a large smile tugging at his lips, “It’s larger than a fucking big monster, so I thought why not try combining two words for more emphasis? I’m quite fond of ‘fuckass’, got a sort of ring to it and rolls right off the tongue. What do you think, Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes are twinkling as he looks over at the witcher again and Geralt snorts.

“Fuckass big is right.”

“You see, Cirilla? You ought to try smashing together more words.”

“What about phrases?” She asks him through her giggles, “Gimme a phrase. That you’d swear.”

“That I’d swear, huh?” He laughs as he thinks for a few moments, “Shit on my dick.”

_ “What?” _

Geralt barks a laugh, hand sliding down Jaskier’s arm to lace his fingers with the bard’s. Is he being too obvious? Jaskier’s eyes say  _ no, _ as they watch him, they say,  _ keep going. _ Geralt gives Jaskier’s hand a squeeze.

Jaskier squeezes back.

“Alright, alright, enough making fun of me,” Jaskier grouses, though the smile doesn’t leave his lips, “You’re making my legs fall asleep, dear Cirilla, so if you’d be so kind?” 

“What, am I getting too big for you, Jaskier?” She teases as she shifts to kneel beside him, taking his other hand in hers. Both she and Geralt are holding on to Jaskier as though, if they let go, he’ll disappear again. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been called  _ old,” _ he sniffs, “I prefer distinguished, but some of the counterparts I saw… gods it’s hard to believe I was ever that young.”

“You still are, quit talking like you’re geriatric,” Geralt rolls his eyes and Jaskier gives him an adoring look.

Ciri clears her throat delicately, settling back on her heels, “What… What  _ did _ happen to you, Jaskier? After the portal collapsed, I mean.”

He gently squeezes her hand, “I had quite the adventure, let me tell you. Bouncing from one world to another; a right dandelion on the breeze, a stone skipped across a pond, I was. All very exciting, I can assure you.”

“So, you were okay?” She asks, a hint of desperation in her voice, “You weren’t hurting?”

Geralt hears Jaskier’s heart pick up and watches the bard’s eyes flicker up to Ciri’s forehead as he replies, “Not in the slightest.”

Ciri’s shoulders slump in relief and she falls forward again, head thumping against Jaskier’s shoulder, “Good. Good, I’m glad.”

Geralt glances at the darkening sky, unwilling to try traipsing further through the woods at the moment, “We should make camp.”

“I’ve got it,” Ciri waves her hand and Geralt’s medallion hums with the wave of chaos the ripples through the clearing, tidying it of leaves and sticks and creating a fire with meat roasting over it instantaneously.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide, “Since when can you do that?”

“Since always, I just choose not to. Geralt says putting camp together with your bare hands ‘builds character’. Yennefer says it builds sweat.”

“It’s good for you,” Geralt grumbles and Ciri laughs.

It isn’t until later, when he’s certain Ciri is asleep with her head on Jaskier’s shoulder, that he brings up the falsehood. “Jaskier,” Geralt says softly. He and his bard are seated shoulder-to-shoulder, arms pressed together, and Jaskier’s ankle is hooked over Geralt’s.

“Hm?” Jaskier blinks awake again, having started to doze against the witcher.

“Earlier, when Ciri asked if you were hurt. You lied.”

Jaskier glances at the top of Ciri’s head, reaching up to gently smooth her hair back. Geralt gives him time, allows him his silence as he so frequently allows Geralt. Finally, he softly speaks, “I did.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want her to feel worse,” Jaskier looks over at Geralt, “I won’t lie, not to you-- it would be pointless anyway-- but it was rather… well, it was quite awful. Especially in the beginning.”

Geralt swallows hard, unsure if he wants to know but aware that he  _ needs _ to, “The beginning?”

Jaskier nods, turning his gaze to the fire-- it’ll ruin his nightvision, Geralt’s mind supplies-- and sighing. “Portals are… apparently they’re a form of nearly raw magic. At least that’s what I was told by a Yennefer; so, when Ciri’s portal broke on me, I was-- hmm…” He seems to be struggling to find the right words, and Geralt’s heart sinks. Jaskier is never out of words. “Let’s say I was imbued with the raw chaos. What it does to a person…”

“What did it do?” Geralt’s voice is hushed.

“It tore me apart. Picked me into little bitty pieces and threw me asunder until I was put back together again. It was agonizing, nearly the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.”

“Nearly?”

Jaskier hums, sounding strained, “There was a mage, in one of the worlds. Nice lad, his name was Ashwood. He thought he could help me.” 

Geralt remains silent.

“There was this curse, you see, caused by the Watcher’s presence in that world before I’d even gotten there. I don’t suppose you had visited once already?” Jaskier looks up and Geralt shakes his head. “Hm, I thought not. I’ve no idea why that monster was there then, before any of us had arrived, and then gone again. But it had caused a blight, one born of its magic. Ashwood thought… well, he thought if he put the Watcher’s magic in me, taking it out of the world, it would be enough power to send me home.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. No, instead I was…” Jaskier swallows hard.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you’d rather not.”

He shakes his head, “No, I should. I should tell someone. I’m sorry it’s you I’m sharing this weight with, though.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks down and takes the bard’s hand in his own hand again before meeting Jaskier’s eyes, “There’s no one else I’d rather shoulder a burden with. Let me.”

Jaskier inhales shakily, blinking back more tears as he gives a jerking nod, “Do you recall how it felt when Borch fell?”

Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. He nods.

“The despair you felt? The utter helplessness? The pain of failure?”

“Get on with it,” Geralt croaks.

“I have a point. What Ashwood did, though I believe it was an accident, was like those feelings were being beaten into my heart with an anvil. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, all I could do was scream as I was torn apart agonizingly slowly. Plucked to pieces but held in one place. I… I felt like I was dying, being burned alive and frozen to death all at once,” he exhales shakily, “I’d rather not talk about it anymore, if that’s alright with you.”

Geralt shakes his head and shifts, being careful not to jostle Jaskier and in turn Ciri as he wraps his arm around the bard’s waist. Jaskier leans further into him, turning his face to press his nose under Geralt’s chin and inhaling deeply. “Smell something you like?” Geralt chuckles softly and Jaskier hums.

“You.”

His heart stutters, hand tightening on Jaskier’s hip as his next breath jumps with a hiccup. He should tell Jaskier, he can tell Jaskier, the opening is right there. All of these worlds where they’re together, where they’ve worked it out, where they’re  _ happy… _ it’s something he wants more than anything in the world. His heart straining at the sinew of his chest, throbbing with the ache that chokes his lungs and leaves him gasping. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice is choked. Jaskier looks up at him, slipping his long fingers under the hem of the witcher’s shirt and branding his skin.

“Yes, Geralt?”

He takes a shaking breath, opens his mouth, “Jaskier, I--”

A portal opens.

Jaskier startles, sitting up straighter as his head whips around towards the portal, alarm and warriness written into every shadowed line of his face as fear pours off of him and coats the back of Geralt’s tongue in its bitter tang. Geralt’s unsure of which to direct his attention to, the open portal or Jaskier’s new terror of them, when Yennefer steps through. To an outsider she looks as poised and poetic as always, but to them they can see the tightness around her lilac eyes and the way her pouty lips turn down at the corners, a few stray hairs out of place in her updo, several wrinkles in her dress hinting at sleeping in it.

Her eyes snap to Jaskier and she waves the portal shut as she beelines over to him, wordlessly dropping to her knees and pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“Oh!” Jaskier softly yelps before his shoulders lose some of their tension and he wraps his arms around her as well, Ciri sitting up from his shoulder and yawning. “Hello, Yennefer.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” the sorceress mutters into his ear, “I should turn you into a toad for the stress you’ve put me through.”

“Dearest Yenna, if you thought for a second that I had any involvement with that horrid jumping then you’d be sorely mistaken. However, I do apologize for the toll it’s clearly taken upon you.” 

Yennefer’s eyes narrow as she pulls back to read his face, his expression of faux-haughtiness exposed by the twitching of his lips as he tries not to smile. She sniffs and tosses her hair back over her shoulder as she sits back on her heels, keeping a hand on his forearm, “I would say the same of your experiences but it appears your distinguished crows feet have flown the nest in favor of an almost unnaturally youthful appearance. Found a new skincare routine while you were gone, did you?”

“Mm, only one born of magic and mayhem, darling. What’s your excuse?” Jaskier is powerless to the grin that blooms on his face and, after a beat, Yennefer wears a matching one as she laughs and pulls him back into another hug.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I missed your colorful tail, songbird.”

“I share your sentiments of disbelief, as I found myself rather homesick for your witchy ways.”

Geralt and Ciri share an eye-roll and he opens his mouth to speak when the ground trembles beneath them, rumbling faintly from someplace unnervingly close by. Ciri and Jaskier gasp, Yennefer standing up immediately with Geralt at her side, as all of their attention focuses on the treeline. They hold their breath.

An enraged scream fills the air.

Yennefer immediately opens a portal in front of them, the force of it extinguishing the fire that had crackled merrily and plunging them into a twilit darkness, eyes hidden amongst the trees. “Through here,” she commands as she walks right through it with purpose, Ciri scrambling to her feet to follow. Geralt grabs Jaskier’s arm to help him up, sliding his hand down to grip Jaskier’s as they hasten through as well. The world pitches and his stomach roils, even after months of portalling Geralt still hates them.

Yennefer snaps shut the portal behind them and Jaskier glances back towards where it was. “That was it, wasn’t it?” He asks quietly, “How did it find us already?”

Lilac eyes turn to Geralt, “Yes, Geralt, how  _ did _ it find you so fast? Ordinarily you’ve had some days before its arrival, not a handful of hours.”

Ciri takes a shaking breath, smoothing down her tunic as she steps forward, “It followed us from the last universe we were in. If we hadn’t had its attention on us it would have eaten it.”

“It can go back--”

“But it won’t,” Geralt interrupts Yennefer, “not with us only a half step ahead of it now. It’s on our scent, it won’t give up the chase now.”

“Well then we need to figure out some way to stop it,” Yennefer crosses her arms tightly over her chest, face calm but tension betraying her fear, “I haven’t been able to discover some way to kill it--”

“We can’t do that,” Ciri is the one who interrupts her this time, and Yennefer looks positively murderous. “It’s a Jaskier.”

“It’s a what?” Jaskier looks over at her with wide eyes, “I think I might have misheard you, did you just say it’s a  _ me?” _

She nods gravely, keeping her eyes on the floor, “We think… well, we think Stregobor stole a version of you that had powerful magic and turned him-- you-- into  _ it.  _ The Watcher.”

“And now he’s sharing a headspace with me, oh I’m sure I just  _ love _ that whole situation.”

“I think…” Ciri pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear nervously, “I think I know a way we can stop it, though. Or at least rescue the Jaskier.”

Yennefer looks at her with curiosity burning in her eyes, “And how do you suggest we do that?”

“If I just knew which universe he came from, I can pull on the traces of that universe and his magic from it. Remove Jaskier from the Watcher.”

“And then we can kill it,” Geralt catches on and Ciri nods, “But we don’t know which universe that Jaskier is from.”

Jaskier, their Jaskier, is frowning at the ground as he thinks, hands planted on his hips. “I think I might.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to him.

He glances up and looks vaguely startled for a moment, as though he’s forgotten he was there, or maybe he’s gotten used to  _ not _ being there. “Well, one of the worlds I…  _ visited, _ was missing its Jaskier. And in the forest, there was a memory in the magic of it of their Jaskier fighting a hooded figure before he-- the Jaskier-- just… turned into nothing.”

“Which world was this?” Ciri asks as Geralt frowns in concern.

“Ah, well, I’d rather not return to it but I’ll let you root around in my skull for it if that would help,” he taps the side of his head and Ciri glances at Yennefer. The sorceress looks stoic but a faint frown is pulling at her lips. She meets Ciri’s eyes and nods, waving a hand in a ‘go ahead’ sort of gesture.

Ciri steps closer and reaches up, placing her fingers on Jaskier’s temples as she closes her eyes, “If you could think about it, Jask, it would make it easier and faster to find.”

He presses his lips together in a thin line but nods, closing his own eyes. Geralt watches them in silence, even as Ciri’s lip wobbles and tears start to drip down her face. She gasps when she jerks her hands away, and Jaskier looks at her with sorrow as he gathers her into his arms. “It’s not your fault,” he whispers, “what happened isn’t your fault, Cirilla.”

“Oh,  _ Jaskier,” _ she sobs into his shoulder, holding him tightly, “Jaskier, I’m so sorry that happened to you--  _ gods _ that was awful! That was horrible! How did you even  _ survive?” _ Geralt has to admit that his alarm grows with each passing moment, anxiety dropping his stomach into his boots and accelerating the pounding of his heart.

“I don’t know the answer to that, but the fact of the matter is that I  _ did,” _ Jaskier murmurs, running his fingers over her hair to smooth it, “I’m right here, Ciri, I’m okay.” 

It takes her some time to calm down again, face blotchy and breaths hiccuping in her throat as she wipes her eyes and struggles to regain her composure, “Th-thank you, Jaskier. I’ll be able to find them now.” He leaves a hand on her shoulder as she pulls away, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Geralt can see the questions burning in Yennefer’s eyes, but when her crimson lips part it’s to ask, “What can I do to help you, daughter?”

Ciri looks over at Yennefer as she wipes her eyes for a final time, drying her cheeks of her sorrow and drawing her shoulders back while swallowing thickly, “We’ll need help. The three of us-- no offense, Jaskier-- aren’t enough to fight it. Hell, we’ve had  _ help _ and it wasn’t enough to fight it. And, once Jaskier is no longer a part of the Watcher, Stregobor will have full control over it; that Jaskier has been fighting Stregobor with every ounce of his willpower, he’s unwilling to harm us.”

“Would additional sorceresses help?” Geralt asks. At the questioning looks he garners he presses on, “we could summon the Lodge, or whoever is willing to help, like Yennefer did in the last world we were in.”

“It would certainly be an aid,” Yennefer nods thoughtfully, “Although we would need other fighters still. Perhaps we can contact your brothers, Geralt, or--”

“No,” he says quickly and Yennefer makes an annoyed sound.

_ “What, _ is it with you two and interrupting me? Honestly,” she huffs, “Why shouldn’t we reach out to other witchers? They’re trained in combat, have magic, and face monsters regularly. They would be beneficial to us.”

“If we all die fighting this then the world would have no more witchers to protect it,” Geralt argues.

“If we all die fighting it there won’t  _ be _ a world for them to protect!”

“You don’t know that!”

“You think this  _ thing  _ is devouring entire universes for shits and giggles, Geralt?” Yennefer demands, jabbing a finger at a window and out at the night sky, “That it’ll stop once the three of you are dead? Don’t be so naïve, the Watcher is after  _ power, _ and that doesn’t come with your death. It will keep going, don’t you understand? Stregobor-- the Watcher-- whoever you want to call it will keep eating and eating until it’s the  _ only _ thing left. Only then will it be satisfied.”

There’s a heavy silence. They either defeat the Watcher, or everything in existence dies.

“Pardon me,” Jaskier speaks up and Yennefer startles, as though she forgot he was there, “I hate to sound like I know what I’m talking about in the ways of magic, after all that’s your expertise, Yennefer, dear; but, couldn’t you get fighters from the other worlds? Ones who either know what to expect or are willing to help?” He fidgets with the hem of his sleeve as he glances between her and Ciri, “After all, people other than Ciri seem to be able to travel between worlds. I mean, if Stregobor could--”

“He couldn’t,” Ciri shakes her head, “The only reason he was able to reach the other you was because he was harnessing my magic.”

“However, what he can’t do, I can,” Yennefer adds, “I just require more power than Ciri to perform the spells. And as we don’t have time to find a djinn, we’ll have to go with Geralt’s idea of calling the Lodge.”

Jaskier nods and falls silent as the plans continue to be made, Ciri helping Yennefer contact the members of the Sorceresses Lodge and Geralt checking his weapons and potions. When he looks up, Jaskier has drifted away from the group and over to the window, arms wrapped around himself as he leans his head against the sill while gazing through the glass at the starry sky. Geralt’s fingers twitch on the handle of a dagger, this is his chance.

“Are you… alright?” He asks in a low voice as he approaches the bard. Jaskier blinks and then looks up, looking very lost for just a moment before a small smile curls his lips.

“Hm, oh yes, I’m quite alright, Geralt. Just enjoying the view of… wherever we are. Especially since it might be the last time I ever get to.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Geralt places his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, “We’ll defeat it, we’ll win.”

Jaskier shudders and reaches up to lay his own thin fingers over Geralt’s larger ones, “But how do you know?”

“What happened to all that witcher confidence that appears in every single one of your fucking songs, hm?”

Jaskier chuckles softly, gently stroking the back of Geralt’s hand, “I suppose it fled in a rather cowardly fashion when it saw a magic monster the size of a mountain.”

“There’s no cowardice in being afraid for the people you--”  _ love.  _ “--care about, Jaskier.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jaskier looks up at him wryly, “When did you become so knowledgeable on emotions, Geralt? Twenty years ago I only just barely got you to call me your friend.”

“And it’s a mistake I vowed to never make again,” Geralt looks down as his hand slips from Jaskier’s shoulder to hold Jaskier’s hand, “Jaskier, I… I should have told you this a long time ago, but I…  _ we… _ that is, if you were amenable to it, of course,” he clears his throat and Jaskier squeezes his hand, looking at him with soft eyes.

“Go on, Geralt,” Jaskier says quietly, “I’m listening.”

Geralt takes a deep breath, his face feeling hot and his tongue like it’s too large for his mouth, “I wanted to tell you that I--”

“Geralt, Jaskier!” Ciri calls from across the room, “The Lodge is here!”

“Tell me after, dear heart,” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s hand again before leaning forward and pressing a delicate kiss to the witcher’s cheek, “After all, you said we’re going to win, and with a vote of confidence such as that, well, then there will certainly be an after to tell me in.”

Geralt blinks as Jaskier’s hand slips out of his and the bard walks over to the sorceresses. His hand drifts up to his cheek, skin warm and tingling where Jaskier’s lips had pressed against it, and he swallows hard as his stomach does flips and his heart flops. Could they have what so many of their counterparts have achieved? Signs are pointing to yes.

“Geralt, get your head out of the pink clouds and come over here,” Yennefer’s sharp voice snaps him of his lovesick reverie, hand dropping to his side as he clears his throat and nods.

“Geralt,” the rectoress of Aretuza greets him with a curt nod.

“Tissaia.”

“It’s been some time since I’ve last heard neither hide nor hair of you.”

“Been a bit busy off world.”

“So I hear,” her gray eyes slide over to Yennefer and Ciri before she smoothes her skirts and draws her shoulders back. Triss, Kiera, and Fringilla are all with her, alongside a few other sorceresses Geralt isn’t familiar with.

“What’s our plan, Yennefer?” Triss asks, stepping closer to press a chaste kiss to Yennefer’s cheek. Geralt can’t say for sure, but he thinks Yennefer’s cheeks turn red.

Yennefer turns to Ciri, “Ciri?”

Ciri clears her throat, rubbing her palms together nervously, “The Watcher isn’t just Stregobor, but also has a version of Jaskier tangled up inside it. I believe I can… extract him-- for lack of a better word-- and return him to the universe he came from. With Jaskier out of the Watcher, Stregobor won’t have as much power and we might be able to stop him.”

“That’s a rather large uncertainty for us to place our bets on,” Fringilla crosses her arms, “How do you expect us to trust that this will work?”

Ciri glances at Geralt, and then Yennefer, before swallowing, “I don’t. I only know that if we don’t try this entire world will be lost, and countless others.”

The Lodge is silent as they think, or, more likely, converse mentally with one another. Finally, after a long silence, Tissaia nods, “We will do what we can to aid you.”

“Thank you,” Ciri breathes out a sigh of relief and looks to Yennefer.

The sorceress straightens, pulling back her shoulders and lifting her chin, “here’s what we’re going to do.” She goes on to explain the spell and how they’ll work together to amplify the kind of magic Ciri can do, while Ciri herself scrys for the Watcher so they know how close it is. Geralt watches as the mages begin to work, palms clasping together and quiet chanting filling the air. 

Ciri is seated on the floor, hands on her knees with the palms up and her eyes are closed. A small furrow appears in her brow as her lips twitch down into a frown. Something isn’t right. 

Geralt feels it too, the back of his neck prickling suddenly as his medallion shudders and shakes upon his armor. He turns towards the window, where Jaskier is still standing and looking back at him. A shadow looms outside.

“Get away--!” 

The wall erupts, stone and glass flying in as the Watcher’s long fingers break through it. Geralt shouts in horror as it grabs Jaskier, who was still standing closest to the outer wall, and throws him with a deafening shriek. “JASKIER!”

Jaskier screams as he careens through the air, unable to tell up from down. He hits the top of a tree, tumbling through its branches with grunts and gasps of pain. His back hits the ground  _ hard _ and he wheezes as the stars blink out and boughs dance above him. 

The Watcher roars again and Geralt covers his ears as he rushes forward. He leaps through the hole in the wall, landing on the Watcher’s head and driving his sword into the monster’s eye. The Watcher wails, staggering away from the keep as it thrashes its head to throw the witcher. 

“Geralt!” Ciri shouts in warning. He pulls his silver sword out, black ichor spilling from the beast and staining his blade. Geralt runs down the length of the Watcher’s back and jumps, pinwheeling his arms to stay upright as Ciri brings forward a surge of magic. Her chaos hits the Watcher head on and it shrieks again, knocked back further. Geralt hits the ground and drops to roll over his shoulder as he spins around and lifts his sword again.

The Watcher roars furiously, jaw hanging open and jowls bellowing with the burst of sound. Three archgriffins materialize in midair, one soaring towards Ciri and the Lodge, the other two beelining for Geralt. He dives out of the way as one swoops, its claws gouging the earth and its beak opening to let out an angry screech. Its brother sails overhead and towards the treeline. 

_ Jaskier. _

Geralt jumps to his feet and sprints after it, willing his legs to move faster. From his belt he pulls a vial of Maribor Forest, uncorking it with his teeth and downing the potion. Even as he watches the world bleed color the way he knows his skin will, his thighs and calves stop protesting his dash and he puts on a burst of speed. He catches up to the archgriffin as it starts to swoop towards the dazed bard.

Geralt grunts as he leaps into the air, grabbing one of the griffin’s hind legs and swinging his sword wildly at its wing. The griffin cries and angles back skyward. As he knicks the tendons of the wing, the archgriffin screeches and vanishes, his hand closing around nothing. He hears Jaskier cry out as he plummets back towards the ground. 

A solid weight hits him and arms wrap around his middle as his momentum is redirected into a wild tumble across the ground. Oak and petrichor fill his nose with the hair that tickles it as they roll to a stop. 

“I didn’t actually think that would work,” Jaskier says faintly. Before Geralt can answer, the other archgriffin swoops at them with a loud caw. Geralt grabs Jaskier and rolls them over, narrowly escaping the sharp talons of the griffin as they graze the grass. “Oh!”

“Stay  _ down,” _ Geralt snarls as he stands, staying crouched over Jaskier with his sword at the ready. The archgriffin circles overhead. It screeches and starts to swoop when a green line of magic zips by, Ciri materializing in the air and blasting it with fire. The griffin screams and vanishes as she drops harmlessly to the ground.

“Are you okay?” She runs over to them, pulling Jaskier to his feet.

“Other than bruises covering 70% of my body and perhaps a few cracked ribs, I’m quite well for having been thrown like a ragdoll from the hands of a toddler on a rampage,” Jaskier answers brightly and Geralt glowers at him. Is now  _ really _ the time for jokes?

Ciri rolls her eyes, “the Lodge is performing the spell, we just need to buy them some--”

The world plunges into silent pitch, Geralt blinking as he looks around. A tree suddenly falls beside him, making him shout and jump out of the way. He’s in a forest. The trees are creaking and groaning as they collapse around him.

He sprints forward. Jumping and ducking around the falling trunks, branches smacking his face and lacerating his sleeves. The thick scent of pine and  _ magic _ in the air all around him. 

Geralt skids to a stop at the edge of a sheer cliff, rocks tumbling over the edge as the ocean roars in front of him. The sky is red. The wind whips at his hair and tugs at his clothes, urging him to jump. The Watcher roars somewhere behind him.

Jaskier is suddenly at his side, slim fingers wrapping around the witcher’s elbow. “Come on, Geralt,” his bard’s voice is smooth, soothing. A balm on the ragged breaths gasping from Geralt’s aching lungs. Jaskier leans in, lips brushing the shell of Geralt’s ear. “Just follow me.”

Geralt turns his head to ask for clarification but the bard has already pulled away and released his elbow. Arms outstretched, he tips backwards over the edge of the cliff.

_ “Jaskier!” _ Geralt screams. Without a second thought, he jumps.

The icy wind is cold on his face, the spray of seasalt stinging his eyes. Where did Jaskier go? The rocks rush up to meet him.

Grass fills his mouth as he hits the ground. Geralt coughs and splutters, pushing himself up on shaking arms as he looks around frantically for Jaskier. He and Ciri are both collapsed nearby, the three of them at the bottom of a small ravine. The Watcher is looming overhead, a dripping sneer pulling at the thing’s gaping maw. It lowers its head, ichor oozing out of its eye and dripping from its jaw, reaching to snatch up Ciri.

A loud  _ BANG! _ startles Geralt out of his daze as the Watcher jerks back, a small hole in its face dribbling a stream of onyx.

Horse hoofs beat a rapid tempo into the earth as a piercing holler fills the air. “Holy Moses! Geralt, that darned thing is me!” A feminine voice calls out as the hooves land in the ravine and stop by Geralt on the ground. He looks up with wide eyes.

Jaskier sits astride Dandelion, her smoking rifle in hand as she grins down at him, “Seemed like y’all needed some backup. Climb aboard, next stop: out of this damned hole!” 

“Jaskier and Ciri-” Geralt looks over at them to see, well,  _ him _ letting them mount his horse. The other him is dressed in similar garb as Jaskier, blue denim jeans and heeled boots, black shirt tucked in and a curved hat atop his plaited white hair.

The Watcher screams and steps forward, only to stagger back as an arrow embeds in its leg and explodes with a burst of flame and powder. Geralt’s head whips around to see  _ Hyacinth _ in a dark green cloak, already nocking another arrow and drawing back on his bowstring. A barking laugh runs past them, the bear witcher Jaskier flanked by another Geralt and Yennefer, swords drawn and magic crackling.

“Come along, Geralt, we ain’t got all day,” Jaskier reaches down and grabs him by the collar, hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. 

“They did it!” Ciri cheers excitedly as the hatted Geralt slaps the flank of his horse, clearly not a Roach. Ciri and Jaskier are carried out of the ravine by the mighty steed and Geralt quickly clambers up behind Jaskier in her saddle. 

“Attaboy, let’s get this show on the road!”

Jaskier spurs Dandelion into a gallop, sticking her hand out as they approach the other Geralt. He grabs her hand as he jumps up, swinging onto Dandelion’s rump in a well-practiced motion and wrapping an arm around Geralt’s waist as the horse leaps out of the hole. It’s a very odd feeling, to smell himself and be aware of his own presence directly behind him, and Geralt gets the odd urge to apologize for the swords strapped to his back. 

Dandelion lands and both Geralts jump down, witcher Geralt grunting his thanks as he draws his sword again. The other Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hand once more as he steps into the stirrup of Dandelion’s saddle and climbs up into the recently vacated position behind Jaskier. “Give ‘em hell, cowboy,” Jaskier tips her hat before unlatching the barrel of her rifle, reloading it and snapping it shut again. “Hiya!” 

Dandelion takes off like a shot, both Jaskier and Geralt shooting at the Watcher as they ride around in a large circle. More explosive arrows are being shot and the bear Jaskier is atop the Watcher’s back, stabbing his sword into its neck repeatedly while his Geralt and Yennefer use signs and chaos against it from the ground. Ciri is still on the back of the borrowed horse, one hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist as he clutches the reins in a white-knuckled grip. Her other hand is extended, a green aura warbling around her fingers.

The air becomes heavier as the stench of magic weighs down upon his shoulders. It feels like he’s running through water as Geralt tries to sprint back towards the fight. The Watcher howls and tosses its head, limbs spasming as shudders rack its body. Ciri is grimacing, sweat dripping along her jaw. There’s a lull in the slashing of swords against flesh and the concussions of explosions, a breath of pure silence.

* * *

The Watcher’s scream shatters it as Ciri’s hand connects with its leg.

Her magic engulfs it, slowing the debris flying through the air and halting the blinking out of stars. She screams, too, mind torn apart in agony and her grip on Jaskier slips. He grabs her arm before she can fall off the horse, and she grits her teeth with the effort of digging through the layers of magic entrapping the Watcher’s mind.

It’s suddenly silent for her, nothing but the rapid thud of her heartbeat in her ears. She opens her eyes and looks around, now standing outside of a dungeon cell. It’s dank and damp, the dripping of water echoing off the stone, and the single glowing torch down the hall casts long shadows into the prison. Ciri’s shuddering breath seems deafening in the silence, and the faint rattle of chains draws her attention. 

“Hello?” She asks in a low voice, stepping closer to the bars and peering into the darkness.

There’s a pause. “You aren’t my Cirilla.”

_ “Jaskier?” _

“The one and only.” Now that Ciri’s eyes have adjusted, she can see the slumped form of a man-- no, an  _ elf-- _ in the cell. He’s clapped in irons and rail thin, looking colorless and beyond exhausted. His hair is dyed blond and hangs limp around his face, tired blue eyes looking up at her through the long locks. “Although, I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

Ciri grabs the bars of the cell, moving closer against it, “I’m here to help you, to save you!”

He gives her a mirthless smile, “I don’t know if that’s possible, princess. If it’s my permission you’re seeking, I give you permission to kill me.”

“Don’t  _ say _ that! I’m going to get you out, Jaskier, I promise.”

He sighs and lets his eyes close, leaning his head back against the wall, “You witchers and your hero streak. How do you suppose you’re going to do that, your highness?”

“Just Ciri is fine,” she murmurs as she steps back, appraising the cell with a keen eye. She rubs her cheek as she thinks. This entire place, where she finds herself now, isn’t real. It’s an illusion, created by the Watcher’s mind to give them a place, to visualize a space for them to fill with their combined presences. She’s sure Yennefer could explain the nitty gritty of the magic better, go into detail about how there’s actually nothing at all and the minds involved are all just firing neurons, but Ciri prefers to lean into the illusion. She prefers to command it.

Which is why she’s able to find a weak point in the bars.

“I would recommend you stand back, but it appears as though you’re already as far back in that cell as you can be,” she says apologetically as she rubs her hands together and steps back, extending both towards the cell. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in mild amusement before turning his face away without her asking.

With a deep breath and a  _ push _ of chaos, Ciri blows a hole in the bars. Jaskier gasps softly but doesn’t flinch, cracking open one eye and peering at her through the dust in the air. Somewhere, as though very far away and through a thick wall, she hears the Watcher shriek. 

“I’m afraid we don’t have much time,” Ciri says as she ducks through the hole, rushing to his side to pull the irons off of his arms and legs, “How were you able to hold back Stregobor when he had you bound like this?”

Jaskier grins, the ghost of mischief passing over his face, and waggles his fingers with a whispered, “Magic.”

“Magic, huh?” She gets the cuff off of his wrists with a small burst of magic of her own, the metal cracking and shattering.

“That old bastard also has much less control over his own monster than he thinks.”

Ciri falls silent as she works before tentatively asking, “Since we’ve a few moments, what  _ did _ happen to you?”

Jaskier watches her move to the irons on his ankles, his feet filthy and covered in dirt that’s ground into his skin at this point, “That’s rather a long story. It boils down to being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m almost certain of it. I was… well, I was experimenting with my magic in an evellian forest-- they’re natural chaos sources, after all-- and he caught me by surprise. I tried to get him to fuck off but the next thing I knew I was blasted to high heaven and found myself in this awful place. The vibes are absolutely rancid.”

“Vibes?”

“Slang from one of the worlds we… uh…” Jaskier looks down as his cheeks turn faint pink with shame, “I do hope you know I can’t… when he  _ does _ that…

Ciri lays her hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, “I know you would never do something like that, Jask.”

He looks up at her with a thin smile. She gets the last iron chain off of him and stands up, holding her hand out to him, “You ready to get out of here?”

He looks around the cell and gains a determined set to his jaw as he nods, “I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve for ol’ Stroganoff.”

Jaskier inhales deeply, letting his eyes fall closed as he lifts his chin and presses a hand against the wall of the cell. Ciri can feel the gathering of chaos, the buzz of it across her skin and sparking through her veins as he pulls it to himself. His fingers twitch.

Light spirals through the stone, cracking it and filling the fissures with molten gold that glitters and drips down the wall. The fractals extend to the floor, dance across the ceiling, and Ciri can almost swear she hears a triumphant chorus pirouetting through the air as it fills with flecks of the golden light. Out of the gold bursts leaves of green, branches of brown, flowers of pink and blue and orange. Brilliant blazes of color and light fighting the empty darkness.

“What  _ is _ that?” Ciri breathes, eyes wide as she watches the beautiful display.

“Something that I’m certain you can do, too, Cirilla,” Jaskier pats her cheek with a genuine smile, “Now, that ought to slow Stregobor down a good bit, give you a fighting chance against his monster.”

She blinks and looks at him, at the lines in his dirt caked face, the shadows under his eyes, the thinness of his limbs and the dullness of his eyes; he did this for  _ her. _ Hurting and exhausted, Jaskier-- a Jaskier of a world other than her own-- still saw her and deemed her worthy to be saved. She’s never had doubt in herself or who she is, nor in Jaskier, and this solidifies that she’s placed her trust in the hands of the right man. Across all of the universes they’ve visited, Jaskier, first and foremost, was kind.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly as she presses her forehead to his boney shoulder. Jaskier makes a soft noise of surprise before his arms come up around her, almost hesitantly. After a moment he sighs and hugs her tighter, burying his face into her hair and humming a single sad note. “It was an honor to meet you, Cirilla of Kaer Morhen.”

“How did you…?”

“An open door can be passed through from either side,” he reminds her gently, “And with that in mind, we should be leaving.” 

Ciri nods and pulls away, holding Jaskier’s hands in hers as she closes her eyes, letting the chaos wash over her and tug her free of the Watcher, Jaskier in tow. She opens her eyes atop the back of a horse, her hand still touching the Watcher’s leg and the swallowtail pendant around her neck glowing bright gold. The magic around the pendant fades to a soft light, nearly pulsing with life as the gems are decorated with veins of magic.

The Watcher thrashes its head, and Ciri looks up at it all she can see is  _ Stregobor. _ No more Jaskier. She opens her mouth to call out to Geralt when the Watcher  _ wails. _

It’s unlike any other sound it’s made so far. Instead of bringing forth visions of death and despair, it makes her feel cold, empty, like whatever light there was in the world has been snuffed out. Ciri shivers against Jaskier’s back, the bard also sitting completely still and pale. The Watcher swings its head around to look at them with one vibrant eye, the white standing out stark against the ichor stained face. 

The Watcher bares its teeth at them and screams, jabbing out to grab her. Jaskier snaps out of the compulsion first, snapping the reins. The horse whinnies and darts forward. Ciri feels the Watcher’s finger graze her shoulders, leeching heat from her skin. She buries her head between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, reaching up to wrap her hand around the swallowtail resting upon her breast.

“We’re almost done, Ciri,” Jaskier pants, guiding the horse to weave through the onslaught of the Watcher as it dances. Fingers stab down into the ground around them, earth erupting with the force, and the horse shrieks. Its eyes roll white as it rears, knocking Ciri and Jaskier from the saddle.

She rolls out of the way just in time for Jaskier to hit the ground with a shout, his cracked ribs jostled by the fall. He’s gasping for air, unable to move, and the Watcher lifts its leg directly over him. “No!” Ciri throws herself over him, hiding her face from the beast.

The sound of shattering glass meets her ears and she looks up. Yennefer stands before her,  _ her _ Yennefer, hands raised and already forming a new shield around them. The Watcher jabs down at them again, the new shield splintering from the force. 

“Ciri, go!” Yennefer shouts, not taking her lilac gaze off of the abomination. “Get Jaskier out of here!”

“R-right. Right!” Ciri hauls Jaskier to his feet, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He’s still a bit dazed, groaning with each staggering step, and the shield remains over them as they move. Yennefer keeps the Watcher occupied, roaring back as an inferno bursts from her hands. 

Ciri settles him behind a rock nearby, crouching over him to peer over it. The sorceresses of the Lodge have joined the fight, magic flaring and elements thundering as spell after spell is cast at the Watcher. The witchers are hacking and slashing with their swords, Hyacinth shooting arrows, Jaskier and Geralt firing their rifles. Nothing is slowing the Watcher down. It’s like it was  _ designed _ to be hurt. The only thing that’s happened, since removing Jaskier, is the world has fallen back to the ground. The stars full in the sky.

“We can’t stop it,” Ciri whispers. “It’s too powerful, even without Jaskier in it. Stregobor is too strong.” She watches as the Watcher roars, sweeping out and knocking its assailants back. More illusions fall out of the sky: kikimora, bandits, nekkers, griffins, all manner of beasts and monsters appear. Even doubles of themselves.

There’s the shot of a gun right next to her, making her jump away and cover her ears as she whips around. A Jaskier looks down at the hole in his chest, blooming with blood. He disappears with a puff of smoke. 

Jaskier holds a pistol in his hand, the barrel of it still smoking.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Ciri gapes before shaking her head, “How did you know that wasn’t one of the yous here to help us?”

“Easy. I’d never wear chartreuse,” Jaskier smiles shakily up at her. 

She takes a few deep breaths, nodding as she tries to wrangle her spiraling emotions back under her control, “I don’t know what to do, Jask. It’s gonna kill someone soon if we don’t figure out how to get rid of it.”

Jaskier gingerly gets to his knees, being careful not to twist his torso. He peers over the rock with her, a deep frown on his lips and a furrow between his brow. It’s his thinking face and Ciri almost laughs at how comical the timing of its appearance is. But if he has an idea....

“You said the other me is out of it, yeah?” He glances over at her, “Then it can’t jump worlds anymore.”

“We can’t send it to another world, Jaskier. It’ll just destroy that one instead!”

“Not _ to _ another world,” he shakes his head, “If you can go from one room to another through a doorway, there’s still the doorway in between them. A space in between.”

Ciri’s eyes widen, “You think there’s a space  _ between _ the worlds?”

“I don’t know. But it’s worth finding out, wouldn’t you agree?”

She looks down at her hands, trembling slightly from fatigue. Does she have it in her to cast again? Something as strong as a portal to a place she’s never even thought about before? Ciri clenches her hands into fists and nods once, huffing a determined breath.

Geralt drops to his knees beside them, relief visible in his golden eyes, “There you are, I’ve been trying to find you everywhere. I thought--”

“No need to worry, Geralt,” Jaskier pats his shoulder before looking over at Ciri again, “Ciri’s going to save the world.” His words are spoken with such surety, such confidence, that Ciri’s lips twitch into a feral grin as she gets to her feet.

“I sure fucking am.”

Geralt stands as well, pulling Jaskier to his feet. They all turn to face the Watcher.

It spies them and roars, dropping its jaw open and scrambling forwards. Ciri thrusts her hand out, the green aura of her magic snapping through her fingers. Geralt reaches over and places his hand on her back, and she feels her magic strengthen with his touch. Jaskier grabs Geralt’s shoulder and she’s suddenly overwhelmed with a warmth that rushes through her, waterfalling from her head down to her very toes. 

A portal opens above the Watcher.

There is nothing through it, completely black and devoid of anything. It makes her head hurt to look at it, even as she pulls at the spaces between worlds, the pockets of absolute nothing. The wind picks up, the void pulling everything towards it. Geralt stabs his sword into the earth, gripping the back of Ciri’s shirt. The sorceresses anchor themselves and their out of world visitors.

The Watcher screams.

Its feet are lifted off of the earth and it flails, scrabbling to grab on to something,  _ anything. _ But there is nothing for the monster to grasp. With a final outraged roar, the Watcher is sucked through the portal. 

Ciri releases it immediately, the portal snapping shut. The wind dies down. Crickets begin to chirp in the silence following battle.

_ “Yeehaw!” _ Jaskier cheers from atop Dandelion, firing her rifle into the air. Geralt laughs behind her, arm around her waist, as Dandelion prances. The other off-worlders start to cheer and clap as well, the sorceresses sagging in relief and congratulating each other.

“Ciri, you did it!” Jaskier, her Jaskier, cries out as he rushes over to her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He lifts her and spins her around joyously.

Ciri shrieks a laugh, tears brimming in her eyes. She did it.  _ They _ did it. It’s over.

Years later, Ciri will look back on this moment with a proud fondness, she’ll remember the little details like the tear in Jaskier’s doublet and the chips in Geralt’s swords. She’ll recall the warmth of Jaskier’s arms and the sounds of the revelry echoing across the battlefield. She’ll think about the way it all ended, not with a bang-- not with the cacophonous echoes of the Watcher’s screams rolling along the mountains-- but with a whimper. With the chirping of crickets and the cheering of friends, old and new. With the heat of Jaskier’s arms, the warmth of his love, the firm hand Geralt claps on her shoulder, the way her father ruffles her hair, pride brimming in his eyes.

In the moment, however, she cries. She sobs, tears cascading down her cheeks, her long bottled emotions from the distress this entire endeavor caused finally breaking free of their frail glass prison and bursting forth in hiccuping wails muffled by a green doublet. Geralt steps forward, wrapping his arms around her and Jaskier, sandwiching her between her father and her best friend. And even as she cries, she feels loved. She feels relief. 

It’s over.

Later, as they’re all gathered around a large bonfire in the center of the battlefield and the other-worlders have already returned home, Ciri takes a swig of the Est Est offered to her. She looks to Yennefer with a curious expression and gets her mother’s attention.

“Yenna, how did you choose which of the other worlder’s to bring?”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow and shrugs with a sly smile, “I didn’t. They were just all in the worlds closest to ours.”

“Speaking of other worlds,” Geralt clears his throat, “Jaskier, can I… talk to you?” Jaskier looks up with bright eyes, ribs healed from a potion Triss forced him to drink, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Alone.”

Jaskier looks surprised but then gets to his feet, sweeping into a deep bow to the group, “Please excuse me ladies, my witcher needs me… and you know how demanding they can be.” He winks salaciously at Yennefer who rolls her eyes and flicks her fingers at him. Sparks roll along her hand and snap near his face, making Jaskier yelp and trip backwards over the log he had been seated on beside Ciri.

Laughter erupts and Geralt scowls as he stomps over, hoisting Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet. The bard barks a startled laugh as he’s set on his feet and Geralt herds him away, hand slipping from Jaskier’s shoulder to his lower back. Ciri watches them walk a fair distance away, clearly hoping to be out of earshot of anyone else.

“I hope this is it,” She sighs, planting her elbow on her knee and her cheek into her fist, “They’ve been dancing around whatever this thing is between them for, what, twenty years now? At least as long as I’ve known them.”

“Longer, sparrow,” Triss chuckles, “I’ve known Geralt for thirty and he’s been mooning over that bard the entire time.”

“Surely not!”

Yennefer nods, her fingers laced with Triss’s, “I can attest to this. Even as we were bound by the djinn wish he always returned to Jaskier.”

Ciri looks over her shoulder again, watching as Geralt says something and Jaskier nods, a hand pressed delicately to his chest. She almost snorts, for all of his appearances  _ delicate _ isn’t a word she would use to describe him, but her thoughts stray as she watches Geralt slip his hand into Jaskier’s hair and lean in, kissing him soundly. 

Applause erupts from behind her and the two men spring apart, Jaskier’s face flushing bright red as he hides it against Geralt’s shoulder. The witcher tries to scowl at them all, his arms coming up to wrap protectively around Jaskier, but the smile pulling at his cheeks leaves him with an odd grimace even as joy shines in his eyes. Ciri puts her fingers in her lips and whistles.

This is the way the world ends.

* * *

Ciri returned to each of the devoured worlds-- after a good amount of time recovering post-battle, of course-- pouring her magic into repairing and reconstructing each universe with Jaskier’s help, the pendant glowing atop her shirt and green chaos mixing with gold.

He had come to her as she slept, dreamwalking with the magic he still possesses even as he’s trapped within a pendant, and explained how they could make everything right. He still had the knowledge of each of the devoured worlds and thought that, with her help, they could rebuild them, recreate them out of nothing and bring the inhabitants back to life. It takes her  _ months _ to complete the project, building the worlds one tiny section at a time before she needs to rest, but she’s finally finished.

It’s time to return Jaskier home.

With a hand over the pendant, she waves open a portal, a cypress forest visible through it. Ciri takes a deep breath, the gentle pulse of Jaskier’s magic against her hand settling her, and steps through. The air is cool and damp, birds twittering in the trees as sunlight filters through the canopy. The clearing she steps into is scorched by fire, trunks demolished and bark charred. As the portal closes behind her, a butterfly flitters past, and she feels eyes on her back. 

_ “He’s from that world with Ashwood and Eskel. They’ll be able to help him, or at least find a way to get him back to his Geralt.” _

Jaskier had only shown her the very bare bones of his time with Ashwood and Eskel, expressing his desire to not talk about it very clearly. Ciri had respected his wishes, even as her heart broke for the little bit of memory he did show her, and followed his directions to the world in question. Magic is heavily seated over this forest, sown into the earth and growing in the trees; even the air is weighted with it, each breath a struggle until she’s adjusted. Ciri shakes off the feeling of being watched and strides further into the clearing.

Her portal brought her here for a reason.

“Hello?” She calls out, her voice echoing through the trees until it’s swallowed up by the forest. There’s no response. The birds fall silent amidst the cypress boughs.

“I’m searching for the sorcerer Ashwood, or the witchers Eskel or Geralt?” She spins around slowly, neck prickling. She turns around again and comes face to face with a man, or rather  _ half _ of a man. Ciri shouts and stumbles back.

“Melitele!”

“I’m afraid she’s probably not here,” the man says calmly. Of the one eye she can see, it’s a nice spring green color, not too far off from her own. He has black skin and blacker hair, and the side of his face is concealed by blue and green lichen, concealing his eye and wrinkling his nose. “And I’m not much of a sorcerer, really.”

Ciri swallows, hand covering the pendant protectively, “Are you Ashwood?”

“I am.”

“Is Eskel here as well?”

“He’s lumbering around somewhere, probably off sulking again,” Ashwood sighs.

Ciri hesitates, “May I ask what happened to your--”

“You may not,” Ashwood snaps at her, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why are you here? I believe there’s a you already in this universe, Princess Cirilla.”

“I believe you ought to find some better manners,” she snarls back. His mouth audibly snaps shut and Ciri sighs, rubbing her temples. “I apologize, I should be conducting myself with more grace than this. I’ve come to return someone.”

“You mean something.”

“No, I mean some _ one.” _ She reaches up around her neck and withdraws the pendant from beneath her shirt, dangling the swallowtail in the sunlight. “This is Jaskier. Or, I suppose he was called Julian here.”

Eskel emerges from the treeline, making a beeline over to them, “I don’t see Julian, what are you talking about?”

So Ciri explains. She tells them everything. She tells them about Stregobor’s experiments, about the Watcher. She tells them about the portal collapse and the universe hopping. She tells them the Watcher was Jaskier, was  _ Julian, _ and how she was able to save him. 

“But I can’t… I can’t create new life from nothing. The worlds I’ve repaired I’ve pulled from something, taking the pieces back from the Watcher as it exists between them. I can’t make Julian a new body, so he’s in here.” She takes off the pendant and holds it out, “My Jaskier said you could help, if not by fixing it then by taking Julian to Geralt.” 

Eskel reaches out and slowly takes the pendant from her hand, rubbing his thumb over it reverently and watching in awe as the gold veins pulse in response. 

Ashwood is stony faced, “How sentient is he?”

“Completely. He can hear us, he just can’t see or speak. He can dreamwalk though, so it’s possible he’ll communicate with you that way.”

The sorcerer nods, arms still crossed, but it’s more like he’s hugging himself than barring others. Ciri thinks he looks sad, his shoulders low and jaw tight, one visible eye shining; but it isn’t her place to offer comfort to those she doesn’t know. Not true comfort. Besides, she really would like to get home again.

“Are there any other questions I can answer?” She asks gently.

Eskel shakes his head but Ashwood swallows thickly, “You said your Jaskier… so he’s okay? He’s alive?”

Ciri smiles and nods, clasping her hands behind her back, “Yep. My Jaskier, the one who visited here, is alive and well.”

Ashwood swallows again and clears his throat, looking determinedly at the ground, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I wish you luck in recovering Julian. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to return home. This forest gives me the creeps.”

Eskel barks a laugh and nods, stepping forward to clap her on the shoulder, “Thank you, Ciri. Your efforts have been noted and appreciated.”

Ciri nods and opens the portal back home, a small cottage on the coast visible through it. With a wave, she steps through.

This is the way the world ends.

* * *

If this story were a movie, it would end with a slow sweeping shot that enters through the open window of the cottage. It would pass through the sitting room: packed with overstuffed armchairs and woven blankets, trinkets and souvenirs on shelves, a silver pistol over the hearth. The shot would enter the bedroom: half the covers untucked and rumpled, the other half neatly made, a doublet tossed over a bedpost and a pair of swords leaned against the wall. It would move through the kitchen, only lingering long enough to note the cutting board with cheese and meats upon it, before exiting out the open back door.

The shot would follow a man with white hair as he walked towards the bluffs, a small spotted dog on his heels, the camera rising to bring into view the back of another man seated at the edge of the cliff. Then the shot would change, a closeup in preparation for a conversation.

Jaskier has his arms folded over his lute, which rests in his lap and has the strap around his shoulders-- he’s not an idiot, not about this-- as he watches the sun set and the ocean lap at the sandy shore below. The orange light is blazing across a lavender sky, horizon burning red and gilded clouds glowing pink. He’s humming, but it’s lost to the gentle sea breeze that blows his hair across his forehead. 

He hears the crunch of the reedy grass beneath Geralt’s boots, turning to look up at his lover with a tender smile.

“What are you doing over here?” Geralt asks with amusement as he lowers himself to the ground, conspicuously keeping a foot between himself and the edge of the bluff. Jaskier knows about the illusion Stregobor made him see, and pulls his feet up from where they dangle so he can slide back beside the witcher.

“Watching the swoop of the gulls in the setting sun, how their wings blaze with the fires of time.”

“Working on your next song?”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier’s lips twitch wryly, “And what about you, good sir? I thought you’d be away for another day or two at least.”

“Already trying to get rid of me, bard?” Geralt raises an eyebrow at him and Jaskier rolls his eyes. “The contract ended early, so I thought I’d come home.”

“That’s very sweet, darling, but you know you can stay away and complete more contracts if you desire?” 

“Well, now it really does sound like you wish to be rid of me.”

“No, of course not, Geralt,” Jaskier takes his hand, threading their fingers together and pressing a kiss to the pale skin, “I just know that my… brief retirement isn’t ideal for walking the Path.”

Geralt hums and squeezes Jaskier’s hand, “Jask, I have no problem with our current arrangement. I think it’s good, for the both of us, to have somewhere in one place for a while. To just… be.”

“And you say you aren’t a poet,” Jaskier teases as he leans over, delicately pressing his lips to Geralt's own. The witcher laughs into the kiss before hauling Jaskier into his lap so they can watch the sunset together, their love dancing softly on the air as the bard sings it to his entire world, words lost on the wind.

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with a whisper.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I'd like to thank everyone who was a part of this wonderful series and all of the readers who have followed along. This wouldn't have been as wonderful as it has been if it weren't for you. A huge thank you to [@hehearse](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art that I commissioned for this series, it turned out magnificent!
> 
> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


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